pilgrim storms
Posted to Action Poetry
by untitledpoet on 2003-05-23 08:36:00
Mountains and sandy feet
stretch dead on the bed.
My miles have metred,
Melissa.
Loved that,
but why
did I write that?
Loved you,
in a bottle.
That has already broken
down.
So I wonder,
still taken by
this storm.
and
I pass through
villages left by water.
No feather or sombre branches drenched.
Just a trench,
where I slipped
and slept.
This time,
it is me that is wet.
